Borderline Obsessed (or Turkey or Chicken)
by Rebellious.Goody.Two-Shoes
Summary: "Tony can feel those green fangs sinking into his neck." / Tony has noticed something concerning his feelings towards the team's resident captain. / "Maybe things are finally looking up." One-shot. Rated T for use of moderately foul language. Genderswap- Fem/Steve. Stoni.


**Borderline Obsessed (or Turkey or Chicken)**

_**Obsession (noun)**_

_**: a state in which someone thinks about someone or something constantly or frequently especially in a way that is not normal**_

_**: someone or something that a person thinks about constantly or frequently**_

_**: an activity that someone is very interested in or spends a lot of time doing**_

There are days when Tony thinks that maybe jealousy has fangs and claws too, sharp as nails and about as painful too. He doesn't feel them too often. If anything, they show up when he sees a normal family- a beautiful mother and a handsome father and the cutest little munchkin son you ever did see- in the streets and he thinks about his family. His dad was a drunk womanizer and his mother was a charitable but busy woman, who couldn't spare more than several minutes a week to spend with her son. And Tony was a child genius who was incredibly naïve about the world around him and who got into more mischief than the Grinch.

Of course, if somebody thinks to bring it up, he shrugs it off, like, _Oh, his parents were never around? Same old, same old. _Most people left the issue alone after that, maybe because they believe his half-assed lie to this very day, or maybe because they just didn't want to deal with the drama of Tony Stark's ever-so-tragic life story. _People really are stupid_, he thinks to himself most every day, because even he winces at how unconvincing the offhand words sound tumbling off his tongue in klutzy manner.

Nobody ever called him on the bullshit though, because if Tony Stark says he's fine, he's fine.

Until her.

He isn't sure what's so intriguing about her, because when he isn't busy hating her guts or slinging very creative and extensively thought out insults at her, he wants to pry open her head and figure out what makes her tick. Asking would probably result in things worse than death.

He doesn't get her. It's weird, because it feels like she reads him as easily as he can read a book or as easily as Natasha can kill a man seventeen different ways with a stiletto and three pieces of flypaper. It's like she has a built in 'Stark's bullshitting you again' homing device. He lied to her once about who ate the last piece of cheese, said Barton did it 'cause dude's always hungry, or some shit like that. She had crossed her arms and stared him down until he was confessing things she had no idea what they were about, most revolving around his one night stands.

She knew when he lied about his family. She stared him down again, until he broke down and told her everything, and somehow the night ended and he was crying into her shoulder and she was hugging him and what the hell had happened that night because Tony Stark does not cry, and Tony Stark definitely does not cry into Captain America's shirt.

Still, for some reason, the gesture makes him like her even more, because anybody with the mental ability and the actual talent required to handle Tony Stark during one of his moods is okay in his books. That was why he liked Pepper so much.

It only makes him like her even more.

_What?_

She comes home today all aflutter over some gentleman she met in Central Park this afternoon. It's weird seeing Stephanie gush over some guy like a fifteen year old girl, but that's exactly what she's doing: She's gushing like a lovesick teenager. ("_His name is Johnathon and he's so nice. I was out jogging and…"_ Blah, bla-blah, bla-blah. Tony got the picture: She'd met Mr. Perfect. He probably liked art and old stuff too if he made her _this_ happy.)

Tony is in the kitchen making a sandwich, and conversing off and on with the rest of the team when she gets home.

("I'm just saying, wouldn't it be nice to have our own shawarma bar. Last time we went for post-battle snack time, there was a bunch of people there. And they just stared at us! Superheroes eat too!" "Nobody considers you a superhero." "Give it a rest, Clint. Tony, you know how New Yorkers are." "Yeah, Tony. Shut up. " "_Clint._" "I'll shut you up!" "_Tony._" "HA! Stark got told off by a girl!" "_Excuse_ me?" "An incredibly sexy girl?")

Then she walks in, practically aglow with happiness and Tony stops talking all of a sudden, kind of flustered and his chest all tight, but in a pleasurable way. It's like she had too much to drink, and is thoroughly intoxicated because she sways with each step and her expression is dreamy. And suddenly the tightness goes from nice to worrisome.

"Steph?" He asks carefully, pushing aside the plate which holds the bread where a couple of limp pieces of processed turkey stare up at him, in a way he considers mockingly because he's convinced the turkey knows he doesn't like processed foods. She barely glances at him when she goes by, just sighs and sinks into a chair at the kitchen table. Tony takes note of the faint pink tinge in her cheeks. She's blushing.

Obviously the rest of the team is on alert now. _Was she drugged or something? No, she can't be drugged. The serum, remember._ "Stephanie, are you alright?" Bruce asks carefully, putting down his newspaper and pushing his cup of tea to the side. Tony takes note of how she smells different, like… cologne? Some kind of pine- outdoorsy, maybe old leather. It's nothing in comparison to the aroma of machine oil and metallic.

Also, she's wearing a coat that he knows does not belong to her. It's a simple brown leather jacket, not unlike the tan colored one Tony bought for her after he found out she was admiring it in a store window because it reminded her of the one she had back in 1942.

"I'm great!" She says a little too loudly, then winces and lowers her voice. "I mean, I'm fine. I just had a really nice day today." Tony still can't relax because he knows for certain she met a guy and he probably asked her out, and guys with brown leather coats that smell like nature and do not happen to have an Arc reactor implanted in their chests can't be trusted.

"So when's the date?" He asks and she looks up, kind of startled, like_, How'd you guess? _ It feels like there's only the two of them in the kitchen, the way everybody else is silent. Her cheeks get even pinker, and her fingers absentmindedly fiddle with the sleeve of her borrowed jacket.

"Ah, Friday." Tony wiggles his eyebrows at her and she smacks him on the arm. Clint gives her a thumbs up and winks. Tony has to wriggle a little to keep from throttling the archer.

She kinda does that cute half smile up at Tony and puts her elbows on the kitchen table. Tony shoots her a charming grin back, and pretends that his stomach isn't doing flips. Besides, even if it is, it's because of that slimy turkey. It's not because he's a chicken or anything.

Her blush is really cute…

_No._

The evening of her date comes earlier than he thinks it should.

"Sir, Mr. Fury is on line three. He's requesting…" JARVIS says. Tony looks up at the ceiling in frustration, barks out, _"Mute!"_ and resumes agitatedly watching the football game on. He's not in the mood for one of Fury's bitch fests about the lack of control Iron Man displays during missions, or how conveniently all of the PAs stopped working and instead started blasting Black Sabbath's Iron Man yesterday at precisely four in the morning.

Nope. He wants to sit and brood over turkey and chicken, and why the hell anybody ever decided chicken was a suitable synonym for cowardly. And maybe Steph's date tonight, although he convinces himself that that's a very tiny reason as to why he's in a very bitchy mood.

The rest of the team is in the lounge with him, for reasons only Odin knows. They're sprawled all over each other in a pile on the floor, watching the game and shoving their faces with popcorn, and yet Natasha still manages to look dainty sitting cross-legged on Thor's back and yelling at the T.V. Tony's on the couch, trying to ignore the lack of innocence in the room because somewhere two floors down and thirty three feet in a southwesterly direction, Stephanie is dressing up for her date with Jonathon Crosby, an English gentleman and an author of World War II history books. Yech.

"Hey Tony, got anymore popcorn?" Clint asks from underneath Bruce's crossed legs. He flails his arms around in a pathetic attempt to show that he can't get up, and is therefore implying that Tony should play butler and get some for him. Natasha snorts and maneuvers her high heeled foot over Thor's left arm, around Bruce's midsection, then kicks him soundly in the head.

"Get it yourself, Barton." Yes, she does look dainty, or dare he say it, royal, perched upon her pile of Avengers like a throne. All that's missing is Steph, who is pretty much the assassin's best friend because they're the only females in this testosterone dominant tower. Stephanie would look so at home with her head on Tony's stomach, wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts like she does every game night, versus all dolled up in a skirt and make-up and out with some creep Tony's dubbed Sir John Bon, whatever the hell that means.

"You okay there, Stark. There's steam comin' out your ears, you're thinking too hard." Clint remarks, attention still fixed on the game. Bruce's popcorn bowl is suspiciously- or coincidentally, whichever way you want to look at it- missing and Clint is once again shoving butter and grease down his throat like a starving man. Considering the quality of SHIELD's cafeteria food, he's not surprised.

"At least I have the mental ability to think hard about something, Barton." Tony remarks acidly. Clint's jaw drops, far enough to cross the line between pushing it and drama queen.

"Do you think my ability to hit my target dead on from a distance of at least a hundred meters is dumb luck Stark? I'd like to see you do that." He retorts indignantly. Tony is about to reply with something he assures you is very witty, clever and mean when Steph makes her grand appearance.

Lucky for him, nobody notices the fact that suddenly his mouth is dry and he can't breathe, let alone think, because they're all just as shocked.

"Wow, Steph… you clean up nice." Clint says finally. That doesn't even begin to describe her, because she's as radiant as the sun. Her hair is long, straight, and waist length on an average day, but now it's curled in loose ringlets and very shiny and it skims the bottom of her ribcage. There's a little mascara adorning her eyelashes, and some eyeliner the color of storm clouds tracing her wide blue eyes. She's wearing barely any makeup, just touch-ups every here and there, and she looks like a goddess. It's mind boggling.

"Ya think so?" She asks, pinching the form-fitting fabric of her top and pulling it away from her. It's colored a turquoise blue hue, like the oceans of the Caribbean, and the sleeves droop down to her elbows, the style loose and breezy like that of an Arabian top's sleeves, except they don't cinch her skin, just stay all… flappy. It's hard enough to process, don't make Tony explain too. And she's… she's wearing… she's wearing a skirt. A black skirt that flares out when she twirls, which she does, much to the delight of Tony.

"Your beauty is one that rivals the loveliest of Asgard." Thor agrees. She blushes deeply, and the pink contrasts with the blue and the black and it makes her look even more desirable to Tony, who is having a magnificently difficult time controlling his urge to drool.

"You look lovely, Steph." Bruce inputs with a kind smile. Something wriggles inside his stomach, makes him clench his fists underneath the throw pillows. Natasha contributes an approving nod.

"Tony?" She ventures softly. "What do you think?" And then… My God… She twirls… For him. Just for him.

_Well, aren't you special?_

His throat feels dry and his voice cracks a little. "Beautiful." He swallows. "You look beautiful, Steph." The smile, wide and beaming, she gives him is worth it.

But something is off…

"Are you wearing perfume?"

Stephanie looks over at Clint, then blushes. She puts on her shoes, a pair of- surprise, surprise- heels, albeit short ones, the color of the night sky. Finally, when she's pulling on the leather jacket- one that Tony bought for her, he notices victoriously- she replies.

"Yes. Why?"

"No reason. You just… smell nice."

Tony can feel those green fangs sinking into his neck.

_Stop._

_How'd the date go?_ The question is relentless and so terribly clichéd, and Tony doubts Steph is one to kiss and tell. Still, it circulates on a never-ending track through his brain. She does that to him, makes his head go all screwy, whether it be in the middle of a battle or at breakfast, when there's jelly residue at the corner of her mouth. He envies that jelly.

Somehow, everything keeps coming back to jealousy. That good-for-nothing green-eyed son of a bitch.

The rest of the team is asleep. After all, it's past one in the morning and while nobody else is concerned, Tony is worrying like there's no tomorrow. _Shouldn't she have been back by now? I should go looking for her. _Still, he sits obediently on the sofa watching reruns of bad television sitcoms and downing whole mugs of coffee in two gulps so he'll be awake when she gets home, and he can grill her for information.

It's like magic, because she comes in just then with that same dreamy look on her face, and her jacket in one hand, and someone's hand in the other.

Sir John Bon is in the hizz-house.

"Tony! Why are you still up? What did I tell you about sticking to a regular sleep schedule? How much coffee have you had?" She's like a mother, always nagging and always acting towards the better good. The man is forgotten in her hustle to clean up the billionaire sitting on the couch, drunk off his ass on caffeine and maybe a few swallows of liquor, and Tony smiles internally because anything that draws attention away from the poser is a good thing.

Anything that involves drawing attention away from the poser and means she has to be close to him is even better.

"Oh! Gosh, where did my manners go? Tony, this is Johnathon Crosby. Erm, John, this is Tony-"

John Bon interrupts her, which brings an unconscious frown to Tony's face. "Tony Stark. A pleasure to meet you, good sir. Johnathon Crosby." The damned man even has dimples, which are total off-springs of the devil. He just looks so likeable, it makes Tony want to spit. Sir John notices Tony's sour mood, how, he doesn't know (because it just couldn't be the big ass scowl on his face), and laughs good-naturedly.

"Oh, this one doesn't like me. Don't worry, I'll treat her right." He says with a smile. Steph is watching anxiously, practically pleading him to say something, kind of bouncing up and down in her heels like an impatient child. It's so innocent and damn it- so very Stephanie. Tony forces a smile, swallows down the sour taste in the back of his throat and dives in, pretending that Johnny Boy is his new best pal. _Only for her._

He's not sure how, but Sir John Bon manage to weasel twenty minutes out of Tony's very busy schedule, when he could be down in his lab, or maybe in his garage, banging out his frustrations on old sports cars or figuring out the best way to make an acid bomb blow up in John's face. He's sure it wouldn't take too long; after all, there's plenty of raw emotion coursing through his veins due to the jaw-droppingly beautiful woman with her slender and muscular arm linked through Mr. World War II expert over there. What happened to opposites attract?

It's ten past two when Johnny announces, "I must be going. I'll contact you, Steph." Tony bites back another acidic glare, because Steph has been on one date with the guy and suddenly, he's special enough to use the team's nickname for Stephanie. Who does Johnathon Crosby think he is?

Still, Tony's glad to see him off. Stephanie doesn't go to bed just yet, and suddenly Tony is sick of today, and just wants to be alone, so he bids her a good night and pads down the hall to his room.

Once inside, he discreetly tells JARVIS to delete any Johnathon Crosbys from the list of guests allowed in the penthouse area. Stephanie is going to kill him later.

At least she'll be the last thing he sees.

_Please._

The next time John is brought around, Stephanie is already up in the lounge. Her lovely little boyfriend is invited to movie night, a sacred ritual for Avengers after a taxing mission, and last Tony checked, Johnny wasn't able to control the dead or burst into spontaneous flames without a second thought. All the better, because if he could do that he would be a lot harder to dislike. Thankfully, he's just a tall, clean-shaven young man with dimples and a square jaw and golden colored hair and really bright green eyes, and damn that man is lucky, because in addition to all of that, he's got Stephanie too.

Movie night goes on with or without any missing team members, as long as two are available, or one wants to really relish that forever alone moment. It's no surprise to the team that Bruce is skipping out, opting to stay down in the lab and work on a project long forgotten beneath developments meant for Stark Industries or SHIELD. It does come as a surprise to the team when Tony bails at the last moment, coincidentally remembering he has work that needs to be done ASAP on the Iron Man suit, just in case Fury decides to call in for a mission during pizza night again.

What makes it coincidental is that he decides to remember this detail approximately thirty four seconds after Johnathon walks in, dressed in comfortable pajama pants a grey t-shirt. A pillow is tucked under one arm and the other is wrapped around the circumference of a jumbo tin of caramel covered popcorn, big enough to keep the army going for a month.

Tony had hoped that maybe the team wouldn't like the guy when they met him a week ago, but they attracted to each other like glue. Even worse, caramel popcorn is Clint's favorite snack, and Natasha and Thor both have extremely large sweet teeth.

He thinks the universe hates him.

Tony hides out in his room for an hour, dressed down in a blue and grey plaid pair of sleep pants and a loose white t-shirt that provides anybody looking with an excellent view of his bright blue Arc reactor.

He sits upon his bed, holding a pillow to his chest and thinking as hard as his mind will allow. Nothing that passes through his brain isn't connected to Stephanie in some way. His favorite thread of thought is post the Chitauri battle, when he thought he was going to die. He remembers, he called Pepper, although the person he really wanted to talk to was trying to distribute her weight between Thor's broad shoulder and an overturned car.

And then everything went black.

Her face was the first thing he saw when he woke up, shell-shocked. Her pale cheeks, bright but weary eyes, soft pink lips, a trickle of ruby colored blood smearing her forehead. And she was leaning over him, looking like a goddess with her golden hair dangling down in front of her face, and he couldn't help but hope…

"Please tell me nobody kissed me." He had hoped for the opposite.

He has to get out of here.

_I think._

Bruce looks up to a crash at the door. An enthusiastic billionaire is splayed against the glass of the door, sweaty and out of breath, like he ran a marathon before stopping by. He's sock-footed, clothed in long, swishy pants of a deep blue color, and a light white tee. In the center of his chest is the Arc reactor, glowing a faithful cerulean color.

Sock-feet skid across the floor, making Tony's run more of a slip and slide. He makes a lunge for the table, still flying at full speed. The jolt of a body making contact with cold linoleum and shiny metal jars his research, making a thousand dollar laptop bearing the logo Stark Industries go flying across the room.

"Tony," Bruce's voice is exasperated and tinged with tiredness, "_what_ are you doing?" He gestures at the rumpled appearance, pinches the sleeve of Tony's white shirt and pulls it back. What looked to be pure white is actually white spotted all over with cookie crumbs and other various food stains of varying colors and textures. How'd he miss that purple jelly stain?

Maybe he would be more sympathetic if three days' worth of work hadn't just been singlehandedly destroyed by flying bodies in the lab.

His anger softens a bit when he hears the ragged breathing coming from the man. Like he's… crying. "_Tony_? Are you okay?"

Tony lifts his head, and although he isn't crying, his eyes are red and maybe a little watery. He's obviously distressed over something, which Bruce hopes isn't trivial like maybe he's out of liquor- impossible- or maybe that his Iron Man suit isn't working how he wanted it to.

It's unlikely to cause a man like Tony Stark to cry. Looking back, Bruce hasn't ever experienced it, although he knows for certain that Steph has. Apparently it was a thing to behold, the great Tony Stark blubbering like a little boy into Captain America's shirt. Don't tell him Bruce said that.

"Bruccceeee…!" Tony moans into his arms. "What do I do?" Bruce doesn't know what this is about, and he doesn't think it would be the kind of idea a genius should have to ask. So he settles for the general advice that works for practically everything.

"Follow your instincts."

_I might._

They break up a week later, because, according to Stephanie, 'Their interests were too different'. Tony was there to comfort her, let her cry into his shirt like he cried into her's all those… was it weeks?- ago. He can't help but feel like something's come to a complete circle.

And on the bright side, Stephanie is finally taking notice of his very pathetic, don't lie to him so help me, attempts to show Steph the feelings he discovered- and struggled to cope with. She gave him a kiss on the cheek a couple of days ago, when he caught her from what would have been a very ugly display of the patriotic symbol of freedom. AKA, she fell off a skyscraper during a mission and several stories before a freefall would become instant death, he swooped in and caught her.

Maybe things are finally looking up.

_Love you._

**A/N: So…? What did you think? I personally really like it, although I would like to go back and add more to the end of it. Either way, I think it turned out pretty well.**

**Also, I got a couple of reviews on my other Avengers FanFiction, which said they wanted me to update. On the off chance that I get those reviews on this story, very sorry. This is strictly a one-shot. But I am extremely flattered that you liked it that much.**


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